


What My Body Wants

by lesbianettes



Category: Chicago Med
Genre: F/F, Lesbians, Pining, ava is thirsty, beach au, little bit of weed smoking, may turn into a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:00:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22322971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianettes/pseuds/lesbianettes
Summary: Ava starts over somewhere new and falls for a beautiful surfer girl
Relationships: Ava Bekker/Sarah Reese
Kudos: 6





	What My Body Wants

Ava’s always liked to people watch, and doing it at the beach has an appeal much different than when she lived in the big city. There isn’t as much stress, speed and sadness here; most everyone is happy to be here, smiling with their families or friends, or enjoying themselves alone just as Ava does. They pick up shells and rocks, surf in the waves. One of them is endlessly confident and bold, riding huge waves until they break and then getting back on her board. Long, dark curls blow in the wind, even wet. She seems good at it, as far as Ava knows. She doesn’t know much about surfing.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” the bartender of the little shack she sits at says. It’s almost reminiscent of a hotel resort. She’s on her third brightly colored cocktail, barely tipsy but pleasantly buzzed as she watches.

“Excuse me?”

He smiles wryly and gets a beer for the customer who just ordered beside her. “Don’t get your hopes up for Sarah. She’ll give you a good time for a night or two, but nothing more.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“I could see it on your face.”

She takes another sip of her booze and watches Sarah walk back to the shore, wetsuit clinging to every curve of her body and a lazy smile on her face as she approaches. She’s coming to the bar. Ava averts her gaze and pretends not to have been watching as the woman sets down her board leans against the bar, right next to her. The bartender hands her a pale yellow backpack rife with pins.

“Thanks, Mikey.” She rifles through the small pocket for an altoid tin, which turns out to hold a joint and a lighter. Alright then. It is California, she supposes, and everyone around here tends to smoke. Why would this woman be any different? As she takes a slow drag, Sarah looks at Ava with assessing, critical eyes. “And you are?”

“Ava.”

After a moment’s consideration, Sarah holds the joint out to her. In the past, Ava never would have accepted, but this is a new life in a new place, so she accepts. Even if it makes her cough. But at least that has Sarah laughing, and Ava feels a bit better when she passes it back and returns to her much more acceptable cocktail. There’s a part of her that wonders if she could convince Sarah to come home with her for even a single night’s company. Something to hold herself together in the loneliness that’s been killing her since she left Chicago.

The aroma, musky and heavy, of the smoke sticks around them until a breeze comes to coax some away, but all Ava can think about is the surety of Sarah’s voice as she flirts with another woman at the bar, and the nagging sense of jealousy beginning to overwhelm her. She wants to be wanted like that, pleaded for in the bow of Sarah’s soft pink lips. Whether or not she’ll be permitted, she craves that attention.

She makes it a good portion of the way through her cocktail before Sarah turns back toward her, puffing out smoke through her nose and smiling at her slightly. Hip jutting out, leaning against the bar. Watching slow with warm eyes, curls that blow a little in the wind. She seems like a model, someone in a swimsuit ad or the front cover of a magazine.

“You’re new around here,” she says. Her lips turn upward into a half-smile, predatory in a way when she leans in close. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“I’ve been here all week.”

Sarah hums, dropping what’s left of her joint in Ava’s drink. Ava should be mad, given how expensive drinks can be and how there was some left, but she’s too distracted by Sarah’s unwavering confidence. No one else would be able to do that. Just her. She’s still struck silent, like the quietest mouse as Sarah reaches into her backpack and produces a little notepad, filled with sketches that flick past too quickly for her to see, and rips out a paper to write a phone number on. 

“If you’re bored, I can show you around,” she offers, handing Ava the paper. “I know the best restaurants and bars. And other things.”

Ava tilts her head. “Other things?”

“I’d be happy to show you later tonight.”

Just like that, she’s walking away, carrying her backpack and her board, and there’s a part of Ava that feels so very much like a deer cuaght in the headlights, still trying to catch her brain up with everything that just happened and realizing that she has the chance to be that woman who Sarah wanted. She can lay in a bed and be close to another person despite how hard that’s been in her life, especially recently, and it will be peaceful yet fiery. Hot and cold. Perfect. Already she’s dreaming of the capabilities of those hands.

“I’d like to close my tab,” she finally gets out, and hands the bartender her card. 

For the majority of the afternoon, she lazes about in her little home. It’s not much. A kitchen, a small living room that houses her secondhand couch, a bedroom crammed with a mattress on the floor and a full dresser, the curtains shut but window perpetually stuck open that she doesn’t know how to fix. The bathroom has a broken sink, so she washes her hands in the shower. The toilet doesn’t work from time to time. But it’s what she can afford, so she deals with it. 

She doesn’t message Sarah until shortly before dinner time, not wanting to seem to desperate, risk blowing what chance she has for some sort of closeness here. She can’t deny herself this human contact she has craved since she arrived. Almost immediately, Sarah responds, telling her to meet her at the beachfront bar, and they’ll go from there. It’s a short enough walk not hail a cab, so Ava takes a moment to fluff her short hair, apply chapstick, and retie her shoelaces. It only takes a few minutes to get back there, but Sarah is already waiting, dressed in shorts and a baggy tee shirt with the sleeves cut off as she leans against a well polished, pale blue Vespa. 

“Thought I’d give you a ride to this little diner in town,” Sarah says, climbing onto the bike and balancing her feet on the ground once she lifts the kickstand. “Just hold onto me, you’ll be fine.”

Ava’s a bit nervous, especially without a helmet, but this is a sleepy, calm town, and she’s more concerned with the thought of holding onto Sarah while they go to get dinner together. So she joins her, wraps her arms around her waist and gets a whiff of fruity shampoo. This is a movie scene, a gift of imagination, and she’s alive, truly alive as the wind pushes her hair out of her face and she’s struck with the urge to kiss the tanned, exposed skin of Sarah’s neck. She very nearly does it. But first, they slow to a stop, and then she’s helped off the bike to get into the diner. It’s quaint. Small. The windows washing out bright light and the smell of comfort food approaching them, much more enticing than the faint hint of smoke still on Sarah’s hands and breath.

“They serve breakfast all day. I’d recommend something sweet.”

It feels like a double entendre, even if Ava can’t quite figure out why, but that doesn’t matter when Sarah’s hand is firm on her lower back, guiding her inside and holding the door for her. It’s respectful, but just provocative enough to make her blush. No one made her feel like this before she came here. It’s just Sarah, who has seemingly put her under a spell in the few hours she’s known her. Ava has always had a weak spot for beautiful women. 

The hostess greets Sarah warmly, bites her bottom lip until she notices Ava and her face falls. An ex? She doesn’t find out, because the hostess is stiffly polite as she leads them to comfortable booth in the back corner, hands Ava a menu, and backs away. Every word on the menu seems handwritten, although it must have been copied from an original, and she has the feeling that this diner is a home to many. And now, it is hers for the evening with Sarah watching her and reaching for the sugar packets, showing off the definition of her muscles when they flex.

“I like my tea sweeter than they make it,” she explains.

Ava just nods and scans over the menu before deciding on the french toast. It reminds her childhood and an unabashed happiness and innocence with every single sunday morning breakfast her father prepared for her. It was sweet and soft in those days, with sunlit kitchen counters. French toast is full of good memories, and she would love to add Sarah to the list, so much so that she stumbles over her words when she orders.

It makes Sarah laugh a little, as she gets pancakes for herself. They don’t talk much, but there’s an ease to the companionship when Sarah is smily and bright, telling Ava how beautiful she is and some of the town or diner’s history between silences filled with sipping water or tea. It’s peaceful, but tense with the promise of what they’ll do afterward. Ava’s almost unable to believe that it’s happening.

Until, of course, her food arrives and it’s every bit as sweet and dreamy as she remembers, fluffy and warm and perfect in her mouth. She can’t help a sound of satisfaction, pure bliuss, and her cheeks quickly flush with the look it earns her from Sarah. Smoldering with a base human want so much deeper than nearly anything else.

“Sorry,” she says.

Sarah shakes her head. “Don’t be.”

She’s still blushing as she continues to eat, all the way until Sarah orders them a sundae to share, complete with two cherries, whipped cream, and hot fudge to make it the sort of thing seen in movies and advertisements. And the first spoonful, held in Sarah’s steady hand, is for her. She closes her lips around the metal, letting the cream melt on her tongue, and makes eye contact when she leans away. It’s the boldest she’s been in a while. It works, however, and Sarah’s eyes lock on the movement before she takes a bite for herself and they put the two separate spoons to use. She’s practically bouncing in her seat with anticipation.

“After this,” Sarah says when the dishes are cleared, pulling cash out of her wallet for the bill, “come home with me? I’ll make it worth your while.”

It’s all Ava’s wanted since she’s laid eyes on her. She certainly can’t say no. Instead, she nods and follows Sarah back to the bike, clings to her on the ride to a much nicer house than Ava’s and finds herself pushed against the door the second they’re inside with soft lips on hers.

She grabs Sarah’s waist, digging her fingers into the soft, warm skin and slipping her hands underneath the tee shirt. Sarah is soft in lot of ways now, in the feel of her body against Ava’s and the palm currently hitching under Ava’s thigh to position her as she pleases. Both legs around Sarah’s waist, suddenly, and lost in the most heated kisses as she’s carried to a bed and set down, covered with a lithe body that’s all the more stunning as Sarah undresses herself.

Ava quickly catches up, kicking off her shorts and panties in hopes of getting touched sooner. Cared for sooner. She needs this. And Sarah clearly knows what she’s doing when she starts kissing down Ava’s stomach, pushes two slim fingers between her folds and makes circles around her clit. It’s not much. But it’s everything. She lets her head fall back on the pillows and grabs at the sheets.

The rest of the night is quite honestly a blur, of being held and fucked and kissed and cared for by someone who knows their way around her body like it’s the thousandth time and not the first, and come morning, she’s looking forward to more. Except Sarah is already gone, and the note by the bed says to lock the door on the way out.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @princessbekker


End file.
